


The Buried Life

by Hunter (thehunter)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s03e23 Hiatus Part I, Episode: s03e24 Hiatus Part II, Flashbacks, M/M, Tony Has Issues, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehunter/pseuds/Hunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ara gave me a challenge: What if Tony, instead of Gibbs, had been on the <i>Bakir Kamir</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  And we have been on many thousand lines,  
> And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;  
> But hardly have we, for one little hour,  
> Been on our own line, have we been ourselves—  
> Hardly had skill to utter one of all  
> The nameless feelings that course through our breast,  
> But they course on for ever unexpress’d.
> 
> \-- Matthew Arnold, "The Buried Life" (1852)

Tony stood behind his desk, leaning over with his palms flat on its surface, doing his best to look menacing. "Come on, Magoo, give it to me! Let's not make this any harder on you than it has to be."

His teammate sat at his own desk, looking insufferably smug as he examined the seemingly innocuous black thumbdrive in his hand. "I don't know, Tony; I think it's about time I got some of my own back. How many times over the last few years have you humiliated me in front of Abby, Kate, Ziva, Ducky, especially Gibbs—and somehow I've survived. Now I've finally got something to hold over your head, and you can't take it! It's kinda sad." McGee's smirk gave way to an expression of wariness as Tony straightened and slowly began moving closer to him.

Tony had thought that Abby's Photoshopped rendition of him in leather fetish gear had disappeared long ago. Although he knew that Kate had sent it to Gibbs at the same time that Tony had e-mailed him her very real Spring Break photo, they had agreed to delete both bits of blackmail material afterward, and he knew Kate well enough to trust that she'd kept her word. Abby had sworn up and down that no one else had a copy of his picture, but now that he thought about it, he realized that she'd said that "no one else but Kate and Gibbs" had the file, and he should have guessed that Abby would be keeping it in her personal archive—she'd been very proud of her work. How McGee had gotten his grubby little hands on it, Tony didn't know, but he was willing to bet that Abby wasn't aware of it. "I'm serious, McGee. You do not want to play this game with me." He loosened his tie and started undoing his cuffs as if preparing for a fight. "It will not end well for you." 

To his credit, the Probie didn't move a muscle; he stubbornly held his ground, and Tony was almost impressed, despite the tell-tale signs of nervousness that were beginning to show. He noted a slight twitch of his head, a barely perceptible hesitance when he spoke. "What are you going to do, Tony, jump me right in the middle of the squad room? Seems like that would attract a lot of attention. Is that what you want?" He slipped the thumb drive into the front pocket of his pants. "It's not like I'm going to send this around _now_. I just want you to know that I have it. It's not blackmail; it's…insurance."

"Insurance against what?" Tony was close enough now to reach out and touch McGee, but he refrained, folding his arms in front of his chest. "I know you, Probie. You can't sit on anything for long. You know Gibbs has already seen the picture, but Ziva doesn't even know it exists, and the temptation would just kill you. It's killing you already; I can see it. You won't be able to help yourself. You'll send it to her before the week is out, and then I will have no choice but to kill you, flee the country, and start over in Buenos Aires under an assumed name. Why don't you just give it to me now and save us both the trouble?" When his partner simply shook his head by way of an answer, Tony sighed. "You're being childish, McGee."

McGee snorted. "Right. And you're a model of maturity."

With all the dignity that he could muster, Tony answered, "I can be, Timothy, when the situation demands it." He was so convincing that he almost believed it himself, right up to the moment that he dived at McGee’s midsection, reaching for his adversary’s pocket. And then froze.

“Um.” McGee was very, very still. “Tony?”

Well, this was a whole new brand of awkward. “This just got weird, didn’t it?” His voice sounded tight even to his own ears.

“Yes. Yes, it did.”

 _Okay. Okay. Your head is pretty much in McGee’s lap. Don’t panic._ Tony took a deep breath. “I’m going to get up now, McGee—nice and slow—and then you and I are going to forget that this ever happened. All right?” Without waiting for an answer, he carefully extracted himself and stood, straightening his jacket for want of something to with his hands. 

“Okay.” McGee rose as well, stepping around him and heading toward the elevator. Clearly he thought that he was off the hook, that Tony would feel uncomfortable going after him after what had just transpired. He could not have been more wrong.

Tony launched himself at McGee’s back, overpowering the younger agent and pushing him down into a headlock. “How do you like me now, Probie!" he crowed. "Give me the thumb drive! Come on, I'm not playing."

But McGee was not to be defeated so easily. He struggled for a moment before making a desperate appeal to his attacker's sartorial sense. "Get off, Tony, or I'll stomp on your Cesare Paciottis! I'm not playing, either." He took a couple of half-hearted jabs at Tony's shoes to prove it, barely missing the toes.

"You wouldn't dare." Just in case, though, he eased his hold a little. 

"Trying to decide whether your dignity's worth as much as your footwear?" McGee's face wasn't visible from that angle, but a smirk was apparent in his voice.

"It's a complicated equation, Probie. Give me a sec." 

And then, suddenly, McGee was reaching into his pocket, taking out the thumb drive and holding it up where Tony could see it. "I give up, Tony. It's yours."

 _Yes._ Grinning broadly at his good fortune, he released his hold on the other man, snatching the drive and unceremoniously pushing him away. " _Thank_ you, Timothy. You've made the right decision." He held the thumb drive before his eyes, relishing the moment. "You get to live, and my life as a Photoshopped leather daddy will remain a well-guarded secret."

"Gee, I had almost forgotten about your spring break picture." Gibbs's voice was completely deadpan, but still managed to make Tony nearly jump out of his skin and drop his prize. Usually he could sense when the boss was behind him, but he'd been too distracted by wrestling with McGee to notice. It rankled that his partner had been more aware of his surroundings than he was. Tony almost fumbled the thumb drive again when Gibbs slapped the back of his head, snapping, "Back to work, Spanky! Molest your coworkers on your own time; right now you owe me a report. You, too, McGee."

The two agents went sheepishly back to their desks, Tony thanking his lucky stars that Ziva had not been present to witness the short battle. He locked the thumb drive in a desk drawer for safekeeping, then sat back in his chair. A moment later, a pop-up alerted him of an e-mail from McGee: "Now you and Abby have the last remaining copies of the picture—except Gibbs, I guess. But she likes you too much to blackmail you, and he's too technologically inept. So at least there's that."

If McGee noticed that Tony's thumbs-up was a little bit forced, he didn't say anything. Keeping his smirk fixed, Tony turned back to his monitor and returned to the business of playing Minesweeper and making it look like work. He could still feel the touch of Gibbs's hand on the back of his head.

* * *

There was no way that Gibbs could be unaware that Tony enjoyed the mild physical abuse that he dealt out, but Tony was pretty sure that if he realized the full effect of the head slaps and the penetrating stares, the boss would never so much as look at him again. Years of working closely with the man had taught him to keep his feelings tightly in check. He was sure that not even Ducky's amazing powers of psychoanalysis had hinted to the good doctor that DiNozzo saw Gibbs as anything but a father figure. Hell, it had taken Tony a long time to realize it himself. 

All day long, he was at Gibbs's side, and often watching him surreptitiously when he wasn't right there with him. Somehow, despite that level of close contact, Tony had still been surprised at first when desires that he'd thought were long buried had begun to resurface. It had been some time since he had given up involvement with men on anything more than a platonic level, and between the amount of time that had passed and the boss's being straighter than straight, he'd thought that he was safe. But after the four or five hundredth time that he'd done something that he knew Gibbs wouldn't approve of, and felt that little thrill at being reprimanded, Tony had begun to see that something in him had changed. 

Though he cultivated the image of a smooth ladies' man, never free on a Saturday night, the truth was that Tony didn't go out as often as his friends believed he did. If they'd given it a little thought, they probably could have figured out that there was no way he could possibly have time to have that much sex _and_ watch all those movies, but he took no pains to disillusion anyone. A year or so after joining Gibbs's team, however, Tony realized that he was beginning to live up to his own hype, and not just because it was fun. Not only was he chasing after women more frequently than ever; his pursuits had also developed a certain air of desperation. Getting laid had formerly been sort of a game for Tony—lighthearted and entertaining, disappointing if he lost, but not devastating—but it now provided a much-needed release for the tension that built in him with every minute he spent in his boss's company. It was becoming more of a coping mechanism than an enjoyable activity.

His demeanor at work had gradually changed, too. Tony had always been a bit glib, maybe a little too heavy on the movie references, but over time he'd found that side of himself growing stronger. The stress was getting to be too much. When he found himself wanting to say something that he shouldn't, to grab the back of Gibbs's head and kiss him into oblivion, to turn an incidental brush of hands into a lingering caress…he covered all that with humor. Ever the master of misdirection, Tony was never more ready with jokes, quotations, and celebrity impressions than when he felt those urges coming too near the surface.

Initially, this worked pretty well on all fronts. No one seemed to suspect that Tony's feelings toward Gibbs were anything but filial; in fact, most people around the office believed that he had designs on Kate—and later, on Ziva. Gibbs seemed both annoyed and amused by his antics and often ended up smacking him on the head, which was becoming more satisfying by the day. Although fully aware of how pathetic it was that even that type of physical contact made him so happy, Tony was sufficiently distracted by being the class clown of NCIS that he was able to get through each day with relative ease. It was not an ideal arrangement, but it would suffice. Besides, what were the alternatives? He could let his desire show, be unguarded and risk revealing too much to the team, being subjected to their knowing glances and whispered conversations, eventually being reassigned—and worst of all, disappointing Gibbs. He could leave NCIS, removing himself from temptation, but he liked it there for many reasons aside from the boss. Or he could try talking to the man, which he didn't see going well at all. Gibbs had been married four times; he was straight as an arrow—as straight as everyone believed Tony was—and that was not likely to change. Short of a sex change and a dye job, there was no way that Tony would ever show up on his sexual radar. Even if things were different, experience had taught him that relationships with men could be even more complicated than they were with women, and while Tony didn't want to be alone forever, he wasn't quite ready to go back there yet. If nothing else, he was secure in the knowledge that the lack of options would keep him in line.

There came a time, however, when DiNozzo began to realize that his act wasn't going to keep him safe forever. It was hard to say exactly when it happened, or what set it off. It might have been anything: an off-hand remark, a lingering look at that ass that made even cheapo Sears trousers look good, one too many of Gibbs's sneaky, hidden smiles. Whatever it was, one day, Tony realized that what had been plain and simple lust had become something more.

He loved Gibbs. He was _in love_ with him.

_Shit._

Just knowing that he _wanted_ the boss had been so much easier to handle. Tony had accepted a very long time ago that he was pretty much equal opportunity when it came to sex. He did have a deep love for breasts, and he certainly played up the "one hundred percent hetero man's man" angle at work, more so since the whole Gibbs thing had started. Aside from some experimental fumblings in high school and the occasional drunken blowjob in the back of a club, Tony had only had sex with a handful of guys, and only one instance of what could be termed a long-term relationship. The majority of his encounters had been with women, and he'd hardly so much as flirted with a man—other than Gibbs, who never seemed to notice—since he'd joined NCIS several years ago. But he was well aware that the attraction would always be there, and he sometimes thought that maybe the next time he found himself "tonguing a tranny", he wouldn't run.

Love, though? That was different. That was something that Tony wasn't used to feeling very much at all. There was his mom, and there was the sort of sibling-rivalry type of affection that he felt for his teammates, but there were only one or two people for whom he could remember feeling that lump in the throat, that slow-burning ache punctuated by a punch in the gut every time their eyes met. Only a couple of women had managed to keep him interested for any length of time. He'd been devoted to them for as long as it lasted, but after only a few weeks, things had fallen apart. In neither case had he felt bad about it in the end; they'd driven each other crazy long before they'd managed to get whatever they felt for each other out of their systems. The break-ups had been mutual, messy, and absolutely necessary. 

Truthfully, he could only say that he'd made a decent go of it once, and that had been with a man. It had not ended well with Brian, and that was something that Tony tried hard not to think about. The only good thing that he could say for that relationship was that it was the reason he'd ended up in Baltimore, where he'd met Gibbs. 

And when it came down to it, Tony knew that he had to take the lion's share of the blame. Well, maybe not for the Brian thing, but certainly in his other failed relationships, and for having had nothing but a seemingly endless stream of one-night stands since then. He was a coward. Tony was a needy guy, so much so that it sometimes scared him. The trouble was, he was also…not paranoid, exactly, but not very trusting. He wanted to let himself rely on someone that much, but he was afraid. He'd been let down before, and he'd let other people down in enough different ways that he was pretty sure karma would never stop kicking his ass for it. So he went on dating the same shallow people, running into the same frustrations again and again, and never learning from his mistakes.

Until now. Until Gibbs, who seemed like he might be exactly what Tony had needed all his life and never realized it. And Tony couldn't have him. Unless he was willing to face rejection, possible violence, and reassignment, he would just have to go on holding it all in and playing the fool. 

The longer he kept up the act, though, the more he found himself leaning on it, hoping desperately to keep his audience's eyes off the man behind the curtain. What was supposed to distract the others and keep him safe was now becoming a distraction to him. It felt less like a mask every day and more like his new, true face. Tony knew that he would never make it that way in his personal or professional life, but he didn't know how else he could be anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

"DiNozzo!" 

Tony's head jerked up and he instinctively closed the Minesweeper window as Gibbs's voice interrupted his musings. "Yes, Boss?"

"Front and center. You, too, McGee. Ziva." The three agents gathered around the plasma screen, Ziva smirking at him all the way. Tony's hunch had been right, then: the file on the thumb drive may have been McGee's only copy, but the Probie had showed it off before handing it over. He would probably never hear the end of this.

In the meantime, the need to focus on this new assignment would keep the other two quiet. Gibbs was gesturing toward an unfamiliar face on the plasma. "This is Abog Galib, an NCIS agent working undercover on the Turkish vessel _Bakir Kamir_. McGee?"

The younger agent was familiar with this by now, and confidently rattled off a brief account of Galib's history with the agency. Tony listened enough to pick up the salient points: the only son of two immigrants from the Philippines, Galib had joined NCIS right out of college. After cutting his investigative teeth in the Northeast Field Office, he'd been recruited to do some undercover work infiltrating terrorists' transportation networks as part of the federal government's ongoing, half-assed effort to get a bead on bin Laden. Abog Galib had been with the _Bakir Kamir_ for several months, and now it was time to bring him home for debriefing.

It sounded fairly routine. So routine, in fact, that a pair of them probably could have handled it on their own. He and Gibbs could—no, better not to explore that avenue of thought at work. He wondered why Gibbs had the whole team on this. Predictably, he didn't have to wonder for long.

"DiNozzo, I want you to take the lead on this one." Gibbs's voice was neutral, but Tony had worked with the man long enough that he could detect undertones of boredom. While McGee and Ziva looked faintly surprised, he simply nodded, the picture of nonchalance. It was too easy: get in, pick up their agent, and get out. Dull and paperwork intensive. Gibbs worked hard, and while it wasn't like him to pass off assignments completely, Tony supposed that he was entitled to delegate some of the simple stuff. Besides, this would arguably be good experience for Tony. It would show that he could take care of business without the boss breathing down his neck all the way. Which may have been the rationale for putting him in charge, and now that he thought about it, this had the director's name written all over it. Tony had been with NCIS for five years now, working under Gibbs all that time, and he knew that Director Shepard had been making noise about getting him his own team. This was probably supposed to show Gibbs that he could handle things by himself. _The bossman never doubted me,_ Tony thought, _he just doesn't feel the need to say so out loud. I guess she's trying to force the issue._ He filed that line of thought away for another time.

The cover was simple. During a routine inspection, Tony would accompany a customs official to check the crew members' passports. When Abog Galib came to the head of the line, a pre-arranged irregularity with his visa would send up red flags. Tony would arrest him and bring him back to the Naval Yard for debriefing. In the unlikely event that something went wrong, Ziva and McGee would be waiting in the car. He wanted to ask what Gibbs would be doing with his evening, but thought better of it, instead shooting the boss a confident grin and instructing the others to gear up and meet him in the garage.

"This is gonna be _so_ _The Usual Suspects_."

* * *

Later, aboard ship, Tony found himself reassessing that statement. Boredom had set in somewhere around the thirtieth man to pass through the checkpoint, and the need to avoid drawing attention to himself severely restricted his options for entertainment. "You guys seriously do this for a living?" he muttered to the customs agent during a momentary lull.

"Glamorous, isn't it?" Agent Cruz replied distractedly. "It's not supposed to be exciting. 'Exciting' means a lot of headaches and paperwork and my wife bitching because I'm coming home late again. 'Boring' is my best friend on this job."

The line moved along again before Tony could respond, and he was forced to return to the business of scanning the crowd for the agent, consoling himself with thankfulness that this wasn't really his job. A man approached the bench, opened his passport, and slid it over the counter. As Cruz flipped through the passport, Tony glanced at it perfunctorily, nodded, and the agent rubber-stamped it and handed it back. Then it was the next man's turn. On and on…the crew seemed to be endless.

But when Tony finally spotted the correct name on a passport, it felt oddly sudden. He leaned closer over Cruz's shoulder for a better look at the stamps.

"Is there a problem?" The captain craned his neck for a better view, causing a cloud of cigar smoke to waft directly into Tony's face. Tony took the passport and angled it so that the other man could see.

"An irregularity," the customs agent replied. "Our records show that he hasn't entered or exited the United States in the past year."

"Yes," Abog Galib interjected, nodding eagerly.

"So why does this passport have entry and exit stamps from Philadelphia in June?" Tony spoke directly to him, raising an eyebrow somewhat facetiously.

"Maybe a computer glitch," the captain offered with a shrug. He looked as if it were of no consequence to him that one of his crew could be suspected of criminal or even terrorist activities. _He's probably used to it_ , Tony thought. _Expects it, even. I wonder how many times he's smuggled men and weapons for terrorist cells._ The captain's reaction was something to include in his report, as was the diamond ring glinting on his finger, but it wasn't an issue that he could address now. There were more pressing matters to attend.

"Or it's counterfeit," Tony said flatly, and he started to step around the counter. It was time to slap on the cuffs, march Galib out of the hall while reciting his Miranda rights for effect, and transport him back to the Naval Yard. Quick, easy, _and_ it'd give any real criminals on board something to think about.

At that moment, with a fluttering of tiny wings, the carefully constructed plan went flying out the window.

Abog Galib ran.

"Shit." Tony drew his gun and gave chase, running through a dozen different scenarios in his mind. Had Galib turned traitor? Had he been a double agent all along? Did he just not like Tony? No, that was crazy talk, with his handsome face and stunning personality. Mind racing, he followed the rapid, echoing squeaks of Galib's sneakers down the corridor, around a couple of turns, and finally through a doorway into the ship's laundry room. Galib stood in plain view, hands raised. Giving his best impression of the L. J. Gibbs Steely Glare, Tony trained his gun on the man and waited.

"Sorry," Galib said sheepishly, "but I'm not going back with you. Can't let you arrest me."

"Really." Tony didn't move.

"I'm on to something big here, much more than any of us expected." 

_What, does he want me to beg?_ Tony wondered. He still hadn't lowered his weapon, and now he narrowed his eyes impatiently. _If I were Gibbs, he would have spilled everything by now._ "Tell me," he said. 

__The man sighed, looking for all the world as if Tony were creating an unreasonable delay in his plans. "I am sure you are familiar with the terrorist group Abu Sayyaf. There is a member hiding among the crew. I have been notified that the group wants me to act as a courier between Basilan and Pakistan."_ _

__"You mean—"_ _

__"Bin Laden."_ _

__With a sigh of relief, as much for the defusing of the situation as for the lead on the head of Al Quaeda, Tony holstered his weapon and pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket. "Tell me what you know," he said, already beginning to take down notes._ _

__"I was recruited by Pinpin Pula—our radio man, the only Abu Sayyaf member on board, as far as I know. But he's already left the ship. He got a berth on the _Cape Fear_ not long ago."_ _

__Tony paused in his scribbling. "That's the munitions transport that's set to rendezvous with Marine Expeditionary Strike Force Eight in the Red Sea. Son of a bitch is gonna blow it up." He knew as surely as if it had already happened, and the thought sickened him. "It'd be another Nine Eleven."_ _

__Galib nodded. "Even more devastating than the first."_ _

__Replacing the notebook in his pocket, Tony moved further into the room and leaned on the washing machine, trying not to let the other man see that his mind was now reeling. He wasn't in over his head, not quite, but part of him wished that Gibbs had been there. It wouldn't have made the news any better, but it might have been a little easier to take. "You're going overboard?" Galib nodded again. "I'll fire a few shots while you run away—just give me a second to alert my team so they don't shoot you." As he pulled out the radio, though, he heard loud voices in the corridor._ _

__Galib stuck his head out the door for an instant, then pulled it back inside, looking nervous. "No time for that, he said, "I have to go now!"_ _

Tony wasn't listening. Galib's sudden movement had altered the drape of his loose jacket, clearly outlining a hard, rectangular object in his pocket. The hand raising the radio stopped and he thought, _Don't stare!_ even as he realized that it was too late; it didn't matter. 

__The two men's eyes met and Tony read his death in the curl of his enemy's lip._ _

__There was no time to act. Galib's hand was already moving toward his pocket._ _

__Tony saw Ziva sitting at her desk, looking up at him with that familiar flash of white teeth, halfway between a grin and a snarl._ _

___No time._ _ _

__He saw McGee, his face a picture of excited absorption, tapping away at a keyboard with Abby hanging over his shoulder._ _

__Galib's hand was in his pocket._ _

__Then Tony saw Gibbs, looking at once urgent and exasperated, and very nearly felt the slap of a hand on the back of his head._ _

__And then he was able to move. As Galib ran from the room, pushing the button when he entered the hallway, Tony threw himself into the corner between the washer and dryer. He squeezed his eyes shut and a white-hot light flared and surrounded him, burning away his consciousness._ _


	3. Chapter 3

Out in the car, Ziva and McGee were having a far more pleasant evening than Tony was. After a couple of minutes Ziva had finally broken down and asked, "Okay, McGee. What is this _Usual Suspects_ movie Tony was talking about?"

McGee smiled. "Basically, there's this mob boss, Keyser Söze. Nobody has any idea who he is, not even the guys that work for him, but he’s a living legend. Most of the movie consists of a guy telling a customs agent a story about how he got involved with Söze and how he survived…pretty much a mob massacre. The cops think that one of his buddies actually is Keyser Söze and faked his own death, then left the narrator behind to act as a witness. But after they’ve dismissed him, they realize that he made it all up, pulling names and other information from a bulletin board in their office. _He_ is Keyser Söze, and it’s unclear how much of the movie up to that point was a fabrication." He paused. "It makes more sense the second time through.”

"I’ll take your word for it." Ziva shook her head, looking out the window toward the _Bakir Kamir_. "What on earth has any of that to do with this agent extraction?" 

"I have no idea, other than that a pretty big part of it takes place on a boat." His brow furrowed. "Which blew up after Söze killed everyone on board. I hope Tony doesn't know something we don't."

Ziva snorted. "Doubtful. Has he ever seen a movie he didn't like?"

" _The Sound of Music_ ," McGee replied decisively. "Tony _hates_ it. He came over to my apartment once and saw it on the DVD rack…gave me crap about it for weeks."

Ziva's jaw dropped slightly. "But…it's a classic! How could he not—I love that film! 'The hills are alive…'"

Unable to resist, McGee joined in the song. Thus it was that Tony's backup was on the third verse of "How Do You Solve a Problem Like DiNozzo?" when an explosion lit up the night sky and rocked the sedan. They caught each other's eyes for an instant, then flung open the car doors and jumped out, leaving them hanging open as they ran toward the ship. McGee trailed slightly behind Ziva, who, he reflected, would likely always be in better shape than he was. _An assassin thing._

Halfway up the gangplank, though, she paused and grabbed a panicked sailor on his way down. "Federal agents!" she barked, tugging him closer in spite of his efforts to break away. "Where was the explosion?"

The man was plainly terrified. "I don't know! I don't know! I was stuck in the customs line, didn't see anything!" When Ziva didn't look convinced, he redoubled his efforts to escape. "I swear, I don't know what happened!"

"Someone said it was in the laundry room," a voice interjected from above. "Same direction your man ran off just a few minutes ago."

McGee looked up and saw the customs agent leaning over the railing. Without a second thought, he started running again, grateful that he and Ziva had had a chance to examine a schematic of the ship's layout before the mission, and that he'd paid close attention despite feeling that it was unnecessary. It would save them precious seconds in reaching Tony now. Not only would it be devastating if his partner didn't make it, but Gibbs would—

_Gibbs! Fuck. No time to stop._ McGee grabbed the cell phone from his belt as he ran down the stairs, punching the speed dial button for the boss without looking. It barely had time to ring once.

"Yeah."

For once, McGee had no trouble keeping his account terse and to the point. "There's been an explosion on the _Bakir Kamir_ , Boss. Ziva and I saw it from the car; Tony was on board. It came from the laundry room and Tony may have been inside. No sign of him yet; we're heading down there now." 

"On my way." Somehow Gibbs managed not to sound as surprised and angry as McGee knew he had to be. "You call me back when you find him." Silence.

"Gibbs is coming?" Ziva had caught up with him, and to his consternation, she sounded less out of breath than he was.

"He's en route." McGee picked up the pace, knowing that she would have no trouble keeping up with him. They were getting close.

That was when the smell hit them, nearly stopping the pair in their tracks with its strength. The heavy, metallic odor of blood, acrid smoke, and an underlying scent of… "Sticky-Tac," McGee said wonderingly.

"Plastic explosives." Ziva's voice was flat, tense. "This…isn't good, McGee. Whatever we find in there—"

"We'll find Tony." Any other outcome was simply unthinkable. But as he halted in the doorway to the laundry room, McGee found it hard to maintain that sort of confidence.

Small fires were still smoldering here and there, despite the soaking the room had received from the ship's archaic sprinkler system. McGee felt his gorge rise as he noted the spatters and pools of blood covering every surface. Shreds and chunks of flesh hung from the ceiling and littered the floor.

"McGee!" Ziva was standing over the charred and smoking ring that had once been the base of an oil drum, her nose wrinkling as she peered at something on the floor beside it. When he joined her, he nearly gagged at the sight of half a mangled body: head, upper arms, and torso, raggedly severed by the force of the blast, almost as if whoever it was had been right on top of the bomb. From this close range, the coppery, meaty odor was almost overpowering, but Ziva appeared unaffected as she leaned over to examine the remains more thoroughly. "It's not Tony," she announced. "So where is he?"

A split second later, they looked at each other and knew that they'd both had the same idea. Ziva and McGee ran to the sheltered corner where stood the washer and dryer, nearly flinging themselves across the battered machines. There, pressed hard against the wall, was their partner, arms still curled protectively over his head. Ziva reached out a trembling hand and touched the side of his neck. "He's alive!"


	4. Chapter 4

The following hours were a blur of worry and frantic activity. Ziva had been dialing for an ambulance even as she checked Tony for a pulse. McGee called Gibbs again to assure him that his senior field agent was, by all appearances, still in one piece. Other NCIS agents arrived to set up a perimeter and to ensure that all crewmembers were accounted for. Tony was wheeled away on a gurney, unconscious and bleeding from what seemed like a hundred tiny shrapnel wounds. His teammates began the long, arduous process of photographing and sketching the scene and bagging evidence. Gibbs joined them after half an hour or so and silently took his place, handling much of the work that would ordinarily have been Tony’s responsibility.

When McGee finally paused for breath, making his way to the upper deck for some fresh air, he was surprised to see that the sun was not yet out—he could have sworn that half a day had passed below deck. Even at this hour, though, the rest of the harbor was bustling with activity, as if oblivious to the chaos earlier in the evening. He almost wanted to go over and yell at the dockworkers. Why were they there? Why weren't they helping, or at least staying out of the way? Tony was badly injured, maybe even—no, he wasn't going there. But it seemed obscene that life should just go on as if nothing had happened. Didn't they know—

McGee's train of thought was interrupted by Ducky's sudden appearance at his elbow. "Timothy! I'm glad I found you. Where have they taken poor Tony? I asked Ziva, but she said that she didn't know. How could she _not know_? Surely the paramedics told you all, or she could have asked."

McGee shrugged. "We've been busy, Ducky. You'll understand when you see the laundry room. Most of the evidence is bits and pieces of some other guy, possibly our undercover agent, and most of him is scattered all over the place. She probably didn't have time to think about it." As Ducky seemed about to protest, he quickly finished, "But I can tell you that Tony is at Portsmouth Trauma. I'm sure Abby is there by now. I'm going to stop by as soon as I get five minutes free…but I'm not sure when that will be."

The medical examiner patted him on the shoulder as they turned back toward the stairs. "I understand, Timothy, that learning what happened here and catching the bomber must take precedence right now, as much because of Jethro's impatience as anything else. I just worry about all of you out in the field, even as I know you're prepared and aware of the risks. And when something like this happens, my worst fears…well, in any case, I'll go and visit Tony as soon as I'm able, and I'll make sure to update all of you in case anything happens."

McGee nodded and gestured for Ducky to precede him down the stairs. As long as the doctor was in front, he couldn't see the suspiciously high rate at which McGee found himself blinking all of a sudden.

* * *

_Tony was sixteen and unstoppable. Kneeling in the dark, between a couple of little-used shelves in the military academy's library, he placed a hand on his fellow cadet's shoulder and tilted his head to one side, ready to deliver the lines that had been successful several times already and had only gotten him punched in the face once. "Come on, Abrams. We're sixteen._ Sixteen! _We're in our prime, man! This is supposed to be the sexual peak of our lives, that we'll never equal again, and how long has it been since you've even seen a girl?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Too damned long. I don't know about you, but it's driving me crazy. Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not going nuts here, John."_

_John Abrams was a wiry, studious type with a shy smile and silver-framed glasses that made Tony want to throw him over a desk and do unspeakable things to him. He helped Tony get through Chemistry and Tony was his PT buddy who encouraged him when the drill sergeant was being particularly unforgiving. Now the boy met Tony's eyes for a second and then looked away, blushing._

__Perfect. _Tony slid closer. "Look. You help me out, and I'll help you. We'll both feel better, and maybe I'll be able to focus in class, for once." When Abrams looked unsure, he continued, "No one has to know, John. It doesn't ever have to leave this room—and who'd find us here, after hours in the library? It's the last place anyone would ever look for_ me _."_

_That got a smile out of the other boy, finally. "Okay, DiNozzo."_

_Tony mentally rolled his eyes._ Right. Now he stops calling me "Tony". Last names only, much less gay that way. _But he returned the smile, turning up the heat a little now that they'd cleared that first hurdle._

_John wasn't quite done yet. "But I don't want to—I mean, I've never—not even with a girl." The red tint on his cheeks deepened; it had probably cost him a lot to make that admission._

_"Not a problem, John. I've 'never' with a guy, but it turns out there are all kinds of other things you can do." Without further preliminaries, he slid one hand around the back of John's head and slowly closed in on him, capturing his mouth gently and planting a couple of soft, chaste kisses there. Tony pulled back slightly and was gratified to see John instinctively follow him. "If you want me to stop," Tony said quietly, "just say so. Any time." The boy nodded mutely, eyes on Tony's lips, and Tony knew that he wouldn't ask for anything but more. He kissed him again, more deeply this time, slipping his tongue in when John's mouth opened under his, and…_

__

* * *

"Jethro!" As his friend entered the room, Gibbs stood up from his position crouched over the body beside what was left of the oil drum. "I came as soon as I heard, which it appears was a good deal after the fact. What do you make of all this?"

Gibbs shook his head, his brow furrowed slightly. "I don't like it, Duck. Something's off."

 _Well, yeah,_ McGee thought. _We should all be at the office right now, filling out boring reports on last night's agent extraction while Tony flicks paper wads at my head._ Everything _is off about this._ He tuned in again, mentally kicking himself, as Ducky and Jimmy loaded the body onto a gurney. Agent Cruz approached from the hallway and handed McGee his clipboard, silently pointing out the one name that had not been checked off the crew roster. Ziva was close behind him.

"Preliminarily, Jethro," Ducky was saying, "it looks like this man died a short while ago in the explosion that Tony so narrowly escaped. I'll let you know when I have confirmation of the cause of death. Something about this bothers me, too."

"I want you to confirm that this is Abog Galib," Gibbs said, looking from the corpse to the medical examiner. "DNA, dental records—whatever it takes."

"As soon as I'm sure, I'll call you, Jethro." Ducky was looking at him intensely, almost expectantly, but McGee knew that whatever he was searching for in Gibbs's face, he wouldn't find it.

"Thanks, Duck." As the charred body was carried away, Gibbs turned his steely eyes on McGee. "How are things topside? Are all of the crew present and accounted for?"

He wished that he had better news, but at least this might be useful. "All but one, Boss. The radio man, Pinpin Pula. Cruz?"

The customs agent looked grim. "Pinpin Pula hasn't been seen since last night in the mess hall. I talked to some of the others; they said he's quiet, generally keeps to himself, but it's not like him to disappear like this."

"I think I know why," Ziva interjected from beside him. "One of the bomb dogs indicated the presence of explosives or explosive residue in his foot locker. The bomb squad is opening it up as we speak."

Gibbs didn't look surprised. "Cruz, put out a BOLO on Pinpin Pula. McGee, you and Ziva find the captain, bring him back to the Navy Yard for questioning. We've done all we can here."

"And Tony?" McGee asked before he could stop himself.

Anyone who hadn't worked with Gibbs for a long time would have thought that he seemed unconcerned, almost cold, but McGee knew better. His worry hid in the slight creases around his eyes, in the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. "He's in better hands than ours. Best thing we can do for him now is to find out who did this and take care of it. If it was the missing radio man, I want to know why and who he's working for. If not…" Only Gibbs could make an unfinished sentence sound quite that menacing.

"On it, Boss." Ziva had probably already had the captain taken into custody, knowing her, but she'd be glad to know that she could now detain him officially. McGee just hoped the man was still able to talk when he got there.


	5. Chapter 5

_"DiNozzo._ DiNozzo _!"_

__Shit! _Tony awoke with a start, nearly knocking over the cup of coffee that his partner had placed on the desk in front of him. He really had to stop falling asleep during briefings, but he'd had a late night and the Chief's voice droned._

_Luckily, only Rodriguez seemed to have noticed this time. Tony felt lucky to have ended up with him as a partner. Usually the rookies got paired with grizzled old cops who didn't want to show them the ropes so much as hang them from them. Rodriguez, though, only had a few years on Tony, and he appreciated his frat boy sense of humor more than the veterans did. He was married, like most of the other guys, and had a kid on the way, but he still remembered what it was like to be single and hormone-driven._

_Later, when they were alone in their patrol car, Rodriguez wanted details. "So where'd you go, man? And where'd you end up? Looks like somebody really wore you out." The last was punctuated with a smirk and a nudge in the ribs that elicited both a wince and a chuckle from Tony._

_He wasn't one to grudge his partner's living vicariously through him, but Tony tried to keep his answers vague. "I was all over the place, 'Nando. I couldn't even tell you what clubs I hit." He could, actually, but because most of those clubs were part of Peoria's small but thriving gay community, a white lie seemed like the safest option. "I hooked up with a group and we just started going from one place to another, up and down the street. I haven't had so much to drink since I rushed Alpha Chi Delta."_

_Rodriguez whistled in admiration. "A group, huh? So, uh, did you…" Tony nodded. "How many?"_

_"Oh, just one. But definitely the best of the bunch. Huge…tracts of land." He smiled nostalgically. It was true, Bruce—or was it Bruno?—had been one of the most well endowed men that Tony had yet encountered. He wouldn't be averse to running into him again, which was more than he could say for most of the other guys he'd met in recent weeks._

_His partner was grinning from ear to ear. "Ah, Tony. Enjoy all this while you can, man. Before you know it, you'll meet a_ nice _girl, she'll get you settled down, and you won't even remember what partying's like anymore."_

_"Hey, I told you—any time you wanna come out with me, you just say the word."_ And we'll go to a nice _straight_ club. _Since Tony frequented the gay and straight scenes about equally often, he had acquaintances and connections in all sorts of places and moved between the two worlds with ease. He wasn't the only one with an equal-opportunity nightlife, but people like him tended to avoid each other in case of awkwardness. He and his partner had gone to straight bars together several times in the past. Rodriguez's wife had even come along once or twice, before she got pregnant, but it looked like all that was now a thing of the past. Tony couldn't say that he was particularly sad about that. Having friends from work was nice, but it made his life a little more complicated than he wanted it to be._

_Rodriguez was shaking his head now in mock regret. "No, man, I can't do it. Chained down, you know? With the baby so close, I practically gotta ask Carol's permission to go to work in the morning!" The two men laughed, but found their banter cut short by the squawk of the radio._

"Armed robbery in progress…"

* * *

_Months later, Tony shouldered through the doors of the locker room, ready to suit up and start his day. Rodriguez was waiting by his locker, as he sometimes did, but today he didn't look happy. In fact, his expression was downright murderous. "What's the matter, 'Nando, kid keep you up late last night?"_

_His partner shook his head slowly. "No. I'll tell you what kept me up, DiNozzo. Little after midnight, I get a call from a buddy of mine in Vice. Says he was cruising downtown, on freak patrol, and saw some young, wet-behind-the-ears kid come out of some place called The Shaft. The kid looked familiar, so he got a little closer and surprise, surprise—there was my partner, with some twinky Asian guy on his arm."_

_Tony froze. Part of him had always been afraid that this would happen one day, but he hadn't been prepared for such an open betrayal, for the hollow feeling in his chest, or for the horror that crept over him as he realized that he'd probably been outed to the entire precinct by now. He'd been blindsided and wanted nothing more than to sink down onto one of the locker room benches and bury his face in his hands—but he knew that his partner and the half-dozen unsubtle eavesdroppers in the room were expecting a reply. His head whirled with explanations that were implausible, but would undoubtedly be eagerly seized upon by his friends. Tony knew that if he gave them even the most flimsy of reasons that he might have been there, other than the truth, then things could go back to the way they were. Almost. Just as long as he never ventured over to that part of town again._

_But overtly lying about who he was, was never Tony's style, unless it helped him get laid. "Yeah, 'Nando, that was me. I was out there last night."_

_"And?"_

_"And I'm sorry you had to find out like this, but I guess it was gonna happen sooner or later."_

_The other listeners no longer bothered trying to be covert. They crowded in closer, eager to catch every detail, no doubt so they could rehash the argument later for their buddies on the night shift. Rodriguez, busily clenching and unclenching his fists, didn't seem to notice. He spoke now in a lower, tighter voice. "I had you in my_ house _, DiNozzo. With my wife and kid. If I'd known—"_

_Tony cut him off, incredulous. "Come on, Rodriguez, you can't think I'm a--"_

_"I don't know what to think, man! I don't_ know _you. You've been lyin' to me all this time. All those stories about women—were they really men, or did you make it all up?"_

_His head was pounding. "Most of 'em were true. You_ know _I go to straight bars; you used to go with me sometimes."_

_'Nando was backing away now, shaking his head. "That was a long time ago, buddy. We're done, you and me. I'm not ridin' around all day with a fairy." He held up a hand to forestall Tony's protest. "I don't wanna see you, hear from you, nothing. Chief's already reassigned me; that's it. It's over."_

* * *

The Portsmouth Naval Trauma Center's waiting room was nearly silent, with only the click of the head nurse's keyboard disturbing the atmosphere of peace. The empty chairs and lack of activity belied the drama playing out behind the doors behind her. One would never have guessed that just half an hour before, an unconscious NCIS agent had been rushed inside, surrounded by emergency personnel, or that a doctor and several nurses were now working frantically to stabilize him just a few yards away.

With a satisfied sigh, the nurse pushed her office chair away from the desk, having finished entering this latest patient into the hospital's records. Her shift would be over soon, thank goodness. The day had been no more than typically hectic, but since that NCIS agent had come in, she'd had no fewer than five calls inquiring about his welfare, and none of the callers had been happy that she'd had so few answers to give. In particular, the young woman with the accent had been unwilling to bow to the stonewall act that usually served her so well when dealing with demanding family and friends. HIPAA regulations seemed to have little sway with this group. But now Nurse Washington was going home, and that obstinate woman, as well as the others, would be the overnight nurse's problem.

At that moment, the automatic doors hissed open, admitting a very pale and strangely attired woman. She was already babbling as she crossed to the nurses' station, walking confidently on obscenely high heels, and she hardly seemed to pause for breath as she spoke.

"So I was getting ready to go out tonight—new place, seemed like most of the crowd were those spooky mall goth kids, you know, but I was willing to give it a chance—and my phone started ringing, but I couldn't find it because I'd switched bags and forgot to move it over, and it was buried under a bunch of stuff. So it took a few minutes, but I finally dug out the phone and I saw it was McGee, and he _never_ calls when he knows I'm going out, so I called him back and it took forever to get through, but when I finally got him he said Tony got hurt! And I wasn't totally surprised because, well, Tony—he's not very careful and he rubs a lot of people the wrong way even though he's really, _really_ sweet when you get to know him—I think he's scared to get close to people 'cause it makes him feel all vulnerable and stuff—but he just got over that plague thing and he hasn't been back in the field that long, so I thought, 'Aw, not again.' But then McGee told me that he got blown up! Someone blew up _my Tony_! So I left right away, 'cause I have to help get the guy who did this, but first I have to know that Tony is okay. And then, of course, my hearse got a flat, like always, so I got a cab, and I was just gonna take it to the airport and fly in, but then I realized that by the time I went through security and got on a plane and all, I might as well just drive here. So I had him drive me all the way and it was really, _really_ expensive, not that it matters because... Oh my god, Tony. Can I see him? I have ID if you need it." The woman reached a lace-gloved hand into her purse and pulled out a handful of items, which she scattered on the desk: a small animal bone, a can of Mace, a couple of dice, and an NCIS ID badge that read, "Abigail Sciuto". The picture showed a smiling young lady wearing glasses and very little makeup. "I know that looks nothing like me, but I _swear_ it is. I had court that day and they wouldn't let me retake the picture later."

Nurse Washington slid the ID back across the counter, holding up one hand to stop her visitor as she appeared to be drawing in breath for another filibuster. "I understand that you're concerned about your friend, Ms. Sciuto—"

"Abby." 

"Abby—and that you came a long way to get here. But I can't allow anyone back there. Not yet. Even if you were family, I can't let anyone in to see him until he's in a room and I have clearance from his doctor. They're still working on him now."

Abby's face fell. "Can you at least tell me how he is?" When the nurse shook her head, pointing to the framed set of privacy regulations hanging on the wall behind her, tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. "I…just—I'm his fiancée, Nurse Washington. We met at work. We're not supposed to fraternize; that's why I can't wear a ring. And I know the risks of his job, but I never really thought something like this would happen, you know?" Abby didn't like lying, but damn if it didn't come easy. "Nurse Washington, I'm scared. Can't you give me something? Anything?" A tear did fall then, tracing a path in black mascara down the side of her face.

"Well…" She _could_ be the fiancée. Nurse Washington had no way of knowing. And the girl was just so darned pitiful. _Nobody could say no to that face_ , she told herself, leaning conspiratorially over the counter. "All right. I don't know much, but I heard one of the paramedics saying that he was a lot better off than they'd expected. It looks like he has a lot of minor contusions from shrapnel, and he probably hit his head. That's why he's back there now; the doctors are trying to determine whether he's sustained a brain injury." Seeing that Abby was about to interrupt with another question, she quickly added, "I don't know when they'll have any answers, and my shift is ending soon. Why don't you have a seat over there—" she gestured toward a couch and a few chairs surrounding a low table in a corner—"and I'll let the overnight nurse know who you are. She can update you as soon as there's any news."

" _Thank_ you." Though her smile was a bit tremulous, Abby appeared less in danger of bursting into tears than before. Scooping her possessions back into her bag, she followed the nurse's suggestion and perched on one of the chairs. Nurse Washington watched her fidget, play with her braids, try to read one of the insipid home and garden magazines piled on the table. She felt for the girl, but she was glad to be going home soon. For her successor in the graveyard shift, this was going to be a very long night.


	6. Chapter 6

_Tony saw the next few weeks fly by in a blur of uncomfortable silences, avoidance, and minor hazing from his former friends, interspersed with quiet sympathy from his new partner, a woman named Stacy. He didn't even have the heart to flirt with her._

_One morning, Tony was called into the chief's office alone. It was the first he'd heard from his superior since he'd been outed, other than routine briefings, and Tony couldn't help feeling that this meeting did not bode well for his career. On the other hand, the chief was downright jovial when Tony walked in the door, so it was hard to tell._

_The two men exchanged pleasantries. The chief inquired as to how things were going with Tony's new partner ("Very well, thank you, sir.") and with the rest of the squad (an awkward pause). Then he got down to business. "Listen, DiNozzo, I'm sure I don't have to tell you this incident between you and Rodriguez just makes me sick."_

_Tony's heart sank. Luckily, he had been mentally preparing for this moment since the confrontation in the locker room, and he had some choice words in mind that were sure to make his resignation one that no one would soon forget._

_The chief continued. "You guys were a great team; a lot of the other rookies looked up to you. And then…" He paused, glossing over the past month's events with a wave of his hand. "This isn't a particularly liberal town, DiNozzo, and cops are generally more conservative than most. I imagine that's why you kept it under wraps for so long. For what it's worth, I'm sorry this happened."_

_Tony did his best to keep the shock from registering on his face. "Thank you, sir."_ Then why did it take you this long to say it? Why say it at all, after almost a month of silence? _Whatever the reason, it couldn't be anything good._

_"I'm up for retirement next year," the man went on, "and I gotta ask—just what do you think is gonna happen to you then?" Tony looked confused. "When all this went down, all I did was shuffle you over to a new partner. You're a good cop, and it's not your fault those boneheads don't have their priorities straight. So to speak. Most other guys in my position would've branded you 'not a team player' because you weren't getting along with the other guys, and stuck you on traffic duty or something until you got fed up and quit."_

_Tony nodded. "And you're worried that's going to happen after you leave."_

_The chief looked tired. "You could have had such a great career, DiNozzo. Maybe moved on to Chicago after a few more years here. You're good at what you do, and you obviously care about it a lot, but for some people, that's never going to be enough. This could wind up being the end of the line for you. Is that what you want?"_

_It was all Tony could do not to shout. His face was red and his voice tight as he replied, "Of course not, but it's not like I have a lot of options now, is it? I quit and try to find myself something else I'm qualified for, or I stay and someone else makes the decision for me. Maybe not right away, but they'll find an excuse to get rid of me eventually. You want me to leave now and make it easier on myself, is that it? 'Cause that's really not my style, Chief." At some point during this outburst, Tony must have stood, because he now found himself looking down at his superior. To his surprise, the older man didn't look disapproving; in fact, he was nodding in a rather satisfied manner._

_"Thought you might say that. Actually, DiNozzo, I do want you to leave—" he waved off Tony's stammered objections. "There's another way, Tony. It doesn't have to end here." The chief motioned for him to take his seat and Tony complied, anger giving way to curiosity. "A buddy of mine is a lieutenant in Philadelphia, and he could use some new blood on his squad. We talked about you. I didn't tell him what happened, just that you had to move for personal reasons, and he and his captain are willing to give you a shot. What do you think?"_

_Surprise and frustration were vying for dominance as Tony ducked his head, chuckling ruefully and running a hand through his hair. "I think I'd better take it, Jack. Sounds like the only chance I got."_

* * *

After what seemed like years, the doctor and nurses had emerged into the trauma center’s waiting room, having done all that they could with Agent DiNozzo for the present. By this time, Abby had flipped through nearly all of the magazines without really seeing the words on the pages. She was tired, hungry, and still frantic with worry. As she caught sight of the doctor, several thoughts occurred to her at once: _They’re finally finished with Tony. At least for now. That means he must be stable, even if he’s not awake yet, and they probably have some idea what’s wrong with him. They won’t tell me anything, though…but then again, I’ve recently decided that I have no shame._

Abby jumped to her feet and jogged across the room, launching herself tearfully at the unexpecting physician. “Oh my God, Doctor! I am so glad to see you. Tell me, is Tony awake yet? What happened to him? Is he gonna be okay?”

The man looked quite taken aback, but didn’t move away from the pretty, goth girl clinging to his lapels. “Uh, ma’am? I really can’t…”

She was shaking her head. “No, no, it’s okay! You totally can. I’m his fiancée.” Gazing up at him plaintively, she repeated her question. “Please, Doctor? Will he be okay?” 

Clearing his throat, the doctor looked around at his colleagues for support. They each looked pointedly elsewhere, however, and then began to disappear one by one, abruptly remembering previous engagements that required them to be in this office or that exam room, or anywhere else that did not involve their having to explain privacy laws to this desperate-looking young woman. Deserted, he sighed heavily and tried to be patient. "Ma'am, I wish I could help you, but I'm sure you know that I can't legally do that. There are regulations that prevent me from sharing patient information; they're meant to protect people like your fiancé, and I would be endangering my career if I violated them." The words sounded like hollow dogma even to his own ears, and he had to stop himself from apologizing—or starting to babble. Something about this woman made him want to tell her all sorts of things.

"Look, if I were his wife, you'd tell me how he was, right? Well, I'm _almost_ his wife! We're engaged; there's hardly any difference." Abby looked back at the nurse for support and was gratified when the woman began glaring at the hapless young doctor. She glanced at his nametag, then redoubled her efforts to look as pitiful as possible. "Please, Dr. Tolliver. There must be something you can tell me."

Tolliver had no chance against the double onslaught of the pleading fiancée on one hand, and the angry nurse on the other. Resigned, he lowered his voice and said, "All right, but keep it between us. I could lose my medical license for this. If anyone asks, I told you nothing." When Abby nodded earnestly in acquiescence, he continued, "Your fiancée is still unconscious, but stable. I'm not aware of the circumstances under which he obtained his injuries, but it appears that he was hit with a considerable amount of flying debris during an explosion. We found no internal injuries, nothing broken. There may be some scarring, but nothing major." Abby was beginning to grin in relief, and he hated to dampen her spirits, but she had to be told the full story. "The real worry, ma'am, is that while he was apparently shielded from the main force of the blast, he did hit his head. He has a concussion. There's no intracerebral hemorrhaging, but the fact that he isn't yet awake is…"

"Hinky?" Abby supplied as he trailed off.

"Uh, sure. Hinky." Tolliver did his best to sound reassuring, while still conveying the seriousness of the situation. "It's not worrying, necessarily. Not at this early stage. It isn't what we expected, though. We'll be monitoring your fiancé closely at all times, and when he wakes up, we'll begin testing to determine our next course of action."

Relief was tinged with fresh worry, a confusing mixture and finally, Abby couldn't help herself. As the doctor finished explaining Tony's condition, she reached out and engulfed him in a tight hug. "Thank you so much, Doctor Tolliver," she said, smiling up at the man. "So…can I see him now?"

* * *

_The apartment was small, but not cramped or overly cluttered. Shelves filled with VHS tapes lined the walls of the living room, the centerpiece of which was a large television on a wooden stand. For once, the screen was dark, though the lights were still low: the stage was set for serious conversation. Tony sat on a well-worn but comfortable couch next to Brian, his partner of just under a year, listening to him talk about the lucrative marketing job offer he'd just received in Baltimore._

_"I want you to come with me, Tony," Brian was saying, his green eyes full of excitement. "This is the deal of a lifetime; I can't turn it down. But I'd almost want to, if I thought it would meant losing you."_

__Almost _, Tony thought, but dismissed it and tried not to look too discouraging. He hadn't been with the Philadelphia police department for very long, only about six months longer than he'd been with Brian, but he liked it there. With time and physical distance, he was finally starting to put the Peoria crisis behind him, and he had some good friends here now. He wasn't sure that he was ready to pull up the roots he'd begun to put down. This thing with Brian, though, had lasted longer than any relationship he'd had before, and he'd never felt this deeply for anyone else. Tony didn't know if he could give that up, either._

_Sensing his hesitance, Brian pushed harder. "We've got a good thing here, Tony, and I'm not ready for it to end. I want to take us further—but I've done the long distance thing before and we both know it never works. No matter how good the intentions are going into it, someone always gets jealous, or restless, and then before you know it, it's all over."_

_Tony wanted to ask which side of the equation Brian had been on in the past, but refrained. "I don't want to throw this away, either, Brian, but I have to think about my career, too. I told you what happened in Peoria—I was only there two years. It'd look pretty bad to have two short-term gigs in a row on my record. People would start digging, asking questions that I'm not ready to answer."_

_That had been the wrong thing to say. Brian was looking incredulously at him now, exhaling pointedly through his nose in the way that he always did when he was disgusted. "I can't believe you, Tony. We're so much better than that._ You're _better than that. Or are you ashamed of us now? Ashamed of yourself, and how you stood up to your buddies back in Peoria instead of rolling over and—"_

_"You know I'm not!" The defensive note in his voice only made Tony more annoyed with his partner. "I wouldn't change a thing that I did back then, or about us. I'm not ashamed of anything I've done, certainly not of you. But it's a boys' club, Brian—straight boys—and if word got out that I wasn't falling in line with everyone's expectations, that would be it for me. Right now, I still care about my work enough to keep it all under wraps, but that has not_ ever _been because I was ashamed. I just don't want Philly to become another black mark on my record. I have to show that I'm committed to the force."_

_Brian let his head drop forward, running a hand through his dark hair. "Okay. What about being committed to this relationship?" He turned to face Tony more directly, scooting closer to him. "Look, Tony. You're still young."_

_"Only five years younger than you," Tony muttered, but Brian wasn't listening._

_"It's not unusual for guys your age to bounce around a little, trying to find themselves and where they want to be. If anything, it shows that you're versatile, adaptable. I'm sure you'll have no problem getting in with the Baltimore PD, and then we'll be there for a good, long time, so you can show them all the commitment you want." He slid an arm around Tony's shoulders. "I really want us to last, Tony. We could have a great life ahead of us, if you'll just take this first step with me. We can make it work. What do you say?"_

_Despite his slight irritation at Brian's older-and-wiser attitude, Tony couldn't help leaning in for a kiss. He would give in, as he'd known that he would from the beginning—not because Brian was right, but because he was willing to take a chance for the two of them. Judging by the smile on his face, Brian had anticipated this outcome. Tony would decide how he felt about that later. Now, as they rose and headed toward the bedroom, he was determined not to think beyond the moment. What he and Brian had wasn't perfect, but it was the best thing he'd ever known, and he was determined to make it work._


	7. Chapter 7

Ziva stood behind the interrogation room's two-way mirror watching the two men who sat silently at the table, staring at each other. Gibbs had sped back from the docks and called for the captain of the _Bakir Kamir_ almost the second that he arrived. McGee had brought Captain Mahir in to him nearly half an hour ago, but Gibbs had yet to ask a single question. There was no case file in front of him and he had forgone his omnipresent cup of coffee. The captain wasn't even cuffed. The room held only the two men in their chairs and the table between them. There was no scope for games or for pretences. She'd had her doubts at first, but Ziva could see that the bare simplicity of the setting was beginning to make Mahir nervous.

The captain had not had much to say when he was first escorted into the room. "I need to get back to my ship," he'd complained as McGee moved back into the hall and closed the door. "Heaven knows what kind of damage this might have caused, not to mention that every minute it sits in the dock, we grow more and more behind schedule. And my crew! Will they stick around, after an incident like this? How can I talk them into staying, when you keep me here?" He sat heavily in the empty chair and glared at Gibbs. "Go on," he continued, gesturing expansively. "Ask your little questions. Get it over with so that I can go back to my boat!"

But Gibbs had not responded at all. He'd simply sat in silence, as if waiting for something.

Eventually, the captain spoke again. "You are wasting my time!" he fumed. "I am not a child to be intimidated by these cheap tactics. Just ask your questions, and if I can answer them, I will. This game you are playing is not helping either of us."

Still, Gibbs neither said a word nor moved a muscle. He was so still, save for his breathing, that he might almost have been part of the room. Even Ziva found it a little disconcerting. She had just begun to wonder whether there was truly any point to this, when she realized that Captain Mahir seemed to have crossed some sort of threshold. While he had been nearly as motionless as Gibbs throughout most of the "interrogation", he was now beginning to fidget. More than that, he was visibly trying to prevent his occasional, nervous motions, and that was telling. She had no doubt that he was becoming frustrated and annoyed, which made him vulnerable. When Gibbs eventually did start questioning the man, his physical tics would reveal more than his words.

A moment later, however, the boss pushed his chair away from the table and stood. The captain took this as a sign that the real interrogation was about to begin and smiled, trying to appear relaxed. He appeared to be quite startled when Gibbs ignored him and walked out of the room.

"Hey! Hey! What is this? You sit there ignoring me for, what, an hour—and then you just leave? I told you, I'll answer your questions if you'll just _ask_ me something. I have to get back to my boat!" He addressed his protest first to the video camera in the corner, and then to the mirror on the wall, growing more angry as he spoke.

Gibbs joined Ziva in the other room. "What do you think?"

She didn't take her eyes off Mahir. "He knows something. I doubt that he expected the explosion, but there was at least one terrorist aboard that ship and he knows it. And it's not the first time."

"What makes you say that?" The lack of inflection in his voice told Ziva that Gibbs had already reached the same conclusion himself, but wanted to hear her line of reasoning as well.

Gesturing toward the man in the other room, she said, "That is a ten-carat diamond on his finger. Before we brought him in, he was smoking a Cuban cigar. Captain Mahir is in someone's pocket and he's been there long enough to get comfortable. It could be Abu Sayyaf."

Gibbs looked at her appraisingly. "You have anything to support that?"

"What has happened here is typical of many Abu Sayyaf operations." She paused. "And it's what my gut tells me."

He nodded slowly and turned back to the captain. "Mine is saying the same thing."

On the other side of the glass, the silent tension proved too much for Captain Mahir. "I am tired of your games!" he shouted. "What are you going to do now, send in a man to beat me?" He pounded the table once with his right hand, then lapsed into scowling silence.

"He's almost right," Gibbs said quietly. "You're up."

Ziva gave him a hesitant half-smile. He'd been in a black mood since Tony had been injured and she wanted to make sure that she was reading him correctly. "You don't really want me to…"

The only answer that she received was a jerk of his head toward the door.

* * *

_Duffel bag in hand, Tony surveyed the spacious and rather empty-looking living room of the Baltimore apartment that he and Brian had occupied for three of the most stressful months of his life. "This should be the last of it," he said unnecessarily, oppressed by the tension that hung thick in the air._

_"Good." Brian was lounging on his new leather sofa with a pretty, blond thing halfway in his lap. The first time he'd been introduced to his replacement, Tony had been unable to resist the temptation to ask if he was legal, and Brian had come near to hitting him. "If you still have your key—"_

_"It's on the rack." There was nothing more to say, really, so Tony opened the door. He was halfway out when Brian's voice arrested him._

_"Tony?" Even now, that name held such promise when he said it. For an instant, Tony let himself believe that he was calling him back, that it was all a misunderstanding, that his world wasn't really collapsing around him. But then Brian continued, "I'm going to want the ring back."_

_"Oh. Right." Brian had presented Tony with the simple, white gold band, inset with an unassuming sapphire, on the day that they had left for Baltimore. Since a ring on his finger would have demanded explanation to the other guys on the force, he'd worn it on a chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt. He was wearing it still, and it felt heavy now against his chest. At the time that he'd received it, Tony had thought of the ring as another sign that Brian was with him for the long haul. Looking back now, he could see a thousand different signs that his partner had been growing fidgety even then. "Forgot I still had it. Here you go." Tony grasped the chain in his free hand and broke it with a firm yank, then dropped it, with the ring, on the floor. It hit the carpet with a muted clink that would echo in Tony's mind for years to come._

_Later, in his new, smaller apartment, Tony sat in his old recliner with a beer in one hand and his cordless telephone in the other. He stared for a while at the piles of boxes around him, then started to dial. Halfway through Brian's number, he hung up and took a swig of his beer. A moment later, he dialed again, let it ring twice, then hung up in disgust and threw the phone across the room. He finished the beer in three quick gulps, then turned on the television, staring at it blankly, barely registering what he saw._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long--I had a serious case of writer's block. Thank you, Ara, for kick-starting my brain so I could finish this chapter!

The smell of charred flesh permeated the air, mixing pungently with the odor of the sterilizing agents used to clean the autopsy room. At times, Ducky envied Jimmy Palmer's inexperience, which provided him all the excuse he needed to step away from the corpse lying burnt and broken on the exam table. While Jimmy was able to compose himself from time to time with a breath of fresh air and a swig of bottled water, Ducky felt that he owed too much both to Tony and to their recently departed guest to pause in his efforts.

"Fortunately for us all, it could be far worse," he murmured to the victim, patting his shoulder gently. "At least this facility has proper refrigeration units. Back in, oh, it must have been 1980…or '81…anyway, I was in Afghanistan at a refugee camp, and it seemed like the electricity went out every couple of hours. It's amazing, the smells that can develop in 100-degree weather with an 80-percent humidity."

Across the room, Jimmy set down the intake form he had been pretending to read and walked back toward the table. "I'm sorry, Dr. Mallard, I didn't catch that."

Ducky counted to ten. "I was not addressing you, Mr. Palmer; I was speaking to our guest. Over the course of our brief history together, on the occasions that you have heard me speak while conducting an autopsy, how frequently have I ever been addressing you?"

Jimmy ducked his head, chastened, and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. Silently, he took his place at the doctor's side.

As Ducky continued his examination of the body, feelings of guilt gradually began to overtake his irritation. He knew that he shouldn't have spoken to Jimmy that way; it had much more to do with the stress of worrying about Tony than anything else. He offered an olive branch: "Your thoughts?"

There was no answer.

Ducky dropped a metal fragment into a specimen jar and looked up at his assistant. "Mr. Palmer! This time I _am_ addressing you." He did his best not to sound annoyed.

Jimmy blinked, clearly caught off-guard. "Oh! Sorry, Doctor. Uh… from the looks of him, I'd say the victim would have had to be directly on top of the bomb. Probably standing on it."

"Not sitting?" 

"Well, I mean, his entire lower half was vaporized, so it's hard to be sure, but I'd think that if he were sitting down, his butt would have been shielded to some extent."

Ducky nodded. "Unless, of course, he happened to be sitting directly on the bomb. What else have you noticed?"

Moving around to stand by the victim's head, Jimmy said with more confidence, "He hit his head on something—hard. I know we don't have the x-rays back yet, but his skull…"

"Is nearly pulverized, yes." That had bothered him a great deal, as there had been nothing around the body on which the man would have been likely to hit his head. Unless he'd been propelled high enough into the air that he'd hit the ceiling. "But that would mean…" Ducky muttered to himself. "Mr. Palmer," he continued, in response to Jimmy's look of curiosity, "I believe this man was fired from a cannon. Or the closest available equivalent in the laundry room."

"The oil drum?" Jimmy asked.

"Precisely. He was in an oil drum, right on top of a bomb, and I can't imagine that he would have chosen to be there. Have we received the DNA results from Abigail?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Not yet. She hasn't been back from the hospital for long, but I'm sure she would have called if—"

At that moment, the phone rang. Stripping off his gloves, Ducky hurried to answer it, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest as he lifted the receiver. "Abigail?"

"Ducky! The DNA results are back. Our victim is Abog Galib."

* * *

_The squad room was experiencing a rare lull in activity that afternoon, and Tony was enjoying the opportunity to relax. To the untrained eye, he might have appeared to be lounging about and playing trashcan basketball, but if asked, he would have said that he was hard at work testing the structural integrity of his chair and improving his hand-eye coordination._

_"Hey, DiNozzo!" Bauer's shout startled Tony, causing him to miss a shot. "All the OT you've been pullin' must've finally paid off. Captain wants to see you."_

_Tony stood up slowly and walked over to his friend's desk. "You know what it's about?"_

_Bauer shrugged noncommittally, but he couldn't hide the curiosity in his eyes. "I think he's puttin' you on that case with the Navy cops." He jerked his head in the direction of the captain's closed office door. "I wouldn't keep them waiting, if I were you. And watch yourself, man; I hear the agent in charge is a real hardass."_

_"Thanks, Bauer." Tony slapped the man's shoulder as he walked by. Approaching the captain's office, he looked through the window on the door at the back of a tall man with greying, close-cropped hair. The man's posture spoke of a military background, but beyond that, Tony didn't know what to make of him yet._

_Tony knocked on the door and as the captain called him in, the man turned around. It was hard to keep his stride smooth on the way into the room when he felt the force of those steely blue eyes._

_"DiNozzo, this is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, Naval Criminal Investigative Service. The Fulbright case falls under their jurisdiction, so Special Agent Gibbs will be heading the investigation. Your job will be to act as a liaison between our departments. Make sure that their team has everything they need."_

_Unspoken was the directive to tag along with Gibbs and funnel information back to the police department. Tony had done this kind of work several times before and knew the drill. No one liked being muscled out of a case by the feds, kept in the dark about things going down on their home ground. As much as he hated losing out in the ongoing turf wars between the different levels of law enforcement, Tony also despised being made the middleman, resented by the higher-powered agency for looking over their shoulders and nagged by his boss every step of the way. Fortunately, by now, Tony had developed what he considered a sure-fire technique for alleviating interdepartmental tensions, at least, in as much as they affected him directly._

_Once the captain had departed, giving the two men some privacy for the introductory pissing match, Tony put on his best disarming grin and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Agent Gibbs. Anything you need from us, just ask."_

_Gibbs raised an eyebrow, ignoring the offered hand. "What I need, DiNozzo, is for you to stay out of our way. I don't take kindly to local LEOs trying to stick their noses in where they're not wanted."_

_Staunchly refusing to acknowledge that he was being ignored, Tony continued to extend his hand. "Blunt, to the point. I like it."_

_Quite abruptly, Agent Gibbs stepped into his personal space, crowding Tony in a way that undoubtedly would have intimidated a lesser man and which, if pressed, Tony might have admitted was slightly unnerving. "I don't think you get me, DiNozzo. You're in over your head. This case has come under federal jurisdiction and out of your department's hands. It's over. You can try to tag along with us if you want, but you won't get anything out of it, and the minute I start feeling like you're in the way, I promise you'll regret it."_

_"I believe you." The presence of the man was overwhelming enough to counteract any satisfaction Tony might have felt upon seeing that Gibbs had to look up slightly in order to meet his eyes. Now that they were so close, Tony could detect the faint aromas of sawdust and Old Spice. Not an unusual combination, but one that was surprisingly appealing and made him want to ask what sort of project Gibbs was working on in his spare time._ Concentrate, Tony. Focus! _He forced his mind back to the task at hand._

 _"If that's what you want, Agent Gibbs, I'll keep out of your way. I'll be as silent and unobtrusive as Jimmy Stewart in_ Rear Window _. Still drive you crazy just by being there, and probably cause my boss to burst an aneurysm from sheer frustration. Or we could say the hell with this turf war and I could actually be helpful without sharing every little thing with the captain." When Gibbs continued to stare silently, Tony continued, "Yeah, this ain't my first rodeo. I know what they actually need to know and what they don't, and I know how to keep them occupied so they're not bugging you constantly about what they_ think _they need to know. I also know this city probably a lot better than your team does, and if you'll let me make myself useful, I think it'll be much more fun for both of us. What do you say?"_

_The silence stretched on for another interminable moment; then a corner of Gibbs's mouth lifted slightly and he finally shook Tony's hand firmly. "Gear up, DiNozzo. Let's get movin'."_


	9. Chapter 9

The elevator doors opened and Gibbs burst forth into the bullpen, striding over to stand in front of the plasma and tossing a file onto his desk on the way. The screen bore a three-dimensional schematic of the laundry room aboard the _Bakir Kamir_ , reconstructed from the team's photos and sketches. Two wire-frame figures were in the room, one standing just inside the door, the other wedged into an oil drum.

"Abby's working on a computer reconstruction, Boss," McGee piped up from behind him. "She's updating it now based on Ducky's latest findings. See, that's the ship's laundry room, and those are—"

"Tony and Galib; I got that, McGee." Gibbs didn't bother trying not to snap at the younger agent. "Looks like Abby's on top of things. What've _you_ got for me?"

McGee swallowed audibly. "Background checks and interviews have been completed for the entire crew—nothing that's much of a red flag so far, other than what we already knew about the captain's involvement in smuggling. Captain Mahir is still with Ziva in Interrogation. I'm tracking down surveillance photos on the _Bakir Kamir_ crew, getting some background together on Pinpin Pula, and triple-checking everything we know, or thought we knew, about Agent Galib. Just in case."

Still scrutinizing the computer model, Gibbs said, "Get Ziva hard copies of those pictures. She can have Mahir identify Pinpun Pula for the BOLO."

"Do you really think he'll be straight with her?"

Gibbs snorted and finally turned to look at him. "He wouldn't dare lie to her—not if he plans to get out of here alive. Now get back on it, McGee! Get me everything. Pula and Galib's friends aboard ship, their habits, outside interests. If Galib went to the head before meeting up with Tony, I want to know all about it."

McGee blinked. "Uh. Yes, Boss." There was clearly more that he wanted to say, but he wisely refrained from voicing it. 

Gibbs turned back toward the plasma by way of dismissing his subordinate and squinted at the two figures. He was missing something; they all were. But what?

"Agent Gibbs?" a small voice asked from somewhere much too close by.

Gibbs turned a steely glare on the young, female probationary agent who stood at his elbow. "Got something for me, Agent…"

"Spencer, sir," she choked out, "and, uh, no. Just that Director Sheppard would like to see you in MTAC right away."

With some difficulty, he fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course she would." Jenny had a real knack for summoning him just when he was least in the mood for interruption. He took one last look at Abby's work in progress, then brushed by Agent Spencer to head for the stairs.

Up in MTAC, he found his erstwhile partner seated at the front of the darkened room, as usual.

"Jethro." She offered Gibbs a cup of coffee as he approached. "Thought you might need this."

He took it and sat beside her without a word. Only after taking a sip of his coffee did he really take in Jenny's appearance. He only got half a word in before he was interrupted.

"Don't say a word," she snapped. "I was having dinner at the White House this evening and I haven't had time to change." Self-consciously, she smoothed her hands over the skirt of her gown. "So what's going on, Jethro? Where are we in the investigation?"

_Nowhere_ , he thought, but made an effort to be somewhat less cynical about the situation. "There are still a lot more questions than answers—like where Pinpin Pula's disappeared to and how the hell Galib ended up in that oil drum. Ziva's getting us a photo for the BOLO on Pula and McGee's dragging the skeletons out of their closets. Otherwise, you know about as much as I do, Jenny."

She shook her head. "I know more. Word is that Abu Sayyaf is infiltrating a SeaLift vessel, likely to blow up a port. That may be what Galib was on to, and why he ran instead of proceeding with the extraction as planned."

It made sense, but something still didn't feel right. "If he knew about this, why didn't he just let Tony arrest him? He could have given us the name of the ship and then gone on to Gitmo like he was supposed to. This doesn't add up, Jenny."

The director looked weary. "My guess is that he didn't know which ship it was, but was close to getting it out of someone—which means he wouldn't have been able to tell Tony much more than we already know." She changed the subject. "Are you going to see him, Jethro?"

"Why? Not like I can debrief him while he's unconscious." He took another sip of coffee, lingering over it a bit, deliberately not thinking about his brief glimpse of Tony's bloody, battered face as the paramedics had carried him down the gangplank.

Beside him, Jenny had turned to look at him with disbelief. "Really? This is the second time that he's been hospitalized and near death, and this time there isn't any miracle cure that you can beat out of a scientist to bring him back. You don't think your support might be called for here?"

Gibbs snorted. "First of all, I didn't beat anyone up—I held him at gunpoint. And there was no cure; the virus died out on its own. And second, Jenny, he's comatose! He wouldn't even know if I was there. I can do a lot more good out here, assuming that people will quit interrupting me with dumb questions." He stood and turned to leave.

Moving more quickly than should have been possible in that gown, Jenny rose to her feet and snatched the cup from his hand. Fury and incredulity battled for supremacy in her expression. "I'm not sure which angers me more: the insubordination, or the callousness. Unfortunately, neither surprises me very much." She moved her arm back out of reach as Gibbs reached to reclaim the coffee. "No. Get back out there, Jethro. Figure this out. Just don't take your guilt out on me or your team if this turns out badly and you end up regretting something you've said."

Gibbs was already stalking toward the exit halfway through her speech. As the door closed behind him, he heard her shout, "And get your own damned coffee!"

* * *

_Tony was alone again in his comfortable old recliner, just him and a beer and the movie of the evening, whatever it was going to be. He hadn't decided yet, couldn't quite muster the will to get up and peruse the shelves._

_The NCIS investigation of the Fulbright case had ended several weeks ago and Gibbs's team was back in DC. Although ultimately Tony had not been needed at the trial, he had maintained contact with the team until it was over, "just in case". Now he had no further excuse to stay in touch with Gibbs, or ever to see him again. Worse, he hadn't had a chance to say goodbye._

_Tony tried to tell himself that it was foolish to get attached to a person based on so short an acquaintance—for by now, he could no longer convince himself that he'd simply admired the man's leadership skills or the loyalty he inspired in his team. There was something about Gibbs himself that had drawn Tony to him like a magnet. Some of it was professional, and he really had enjoyed working with Gibbs. There was no bullshit, no creampuff assignment to keep the liaison officer out of the way. Following their first encounter in the captain's office, Tony had been put to work right alongside the NCIS team and had worked closely with Gibbs in particular. So much so, in fact, that his own boss had grown a bit resentful and begun to grumble about treason and mutiny. There may have been some grounds for that; Tony had just begun to feel that the team's camaraderie had extended to him when things wrapped up._

_Now he was back to his usual work with homicide, which was still rewarding, but not quite as satisfying as it had been before NCIS came into town. Before Gibbs. Tony felt strangely restless and was having trouble readjusting now that he was no longer working under Gibbs's exacting standards. His buddies had been ribbing him about being uptight, but he didn't think it was so funny. In fact, it was starting to get on his nerves a bit. Nothing about his work seemed to fit quite right anymore. Several things about his personal life, such as it was, were also beginning to feel wrong._

_Except for one thing. Tony remembered that fleeting thought, the first time he met Gibbs, that he'd be dreaming of Old Spice and sawdust and intensely blue eyes for the next little while. He still hadn't been able to shake it; in fact, the fantasies had become more intense since Gibbs left. Maybe it was for the best that they weren't likely to run into each other again. Tony had a feeling that Gibbs would not appreciate knowing that he was an object of desire for another man, even one as undeniably desirable as himself._

_Tonight marked the start of a rare weekend off, and Tony intended to make the most of it. He wanted to relax, to get back to being the old Tony again, as that guy had fit in much better with the Baltimore PD than his post-Gibbs self did. He was just cracking open his beer when the phone rang._

_"Y'ello."_

_"DiNozzo?"_

_"Agent Gibbs." Tony put down his beer and instinctively sat up straight in the chair. "What can I do for you?"_


	10. Chapter 10

_Everything had begun to run together now. Tony saw brief flashes of activity now and then, heard familiar voices, but his world consisted mostly of bright, blinding light._

_He saw himself on his first day at NCIS, running to catch up with Gibbs as he headed for the elevator, heard the swish of his old agency windbreaker._

_Then he was waking up in his desk chair after another all-nighter at work, a steaming hot cup of coffee close at hand. Gibbs sat at his own desk, looking as rumpled as Tony knew he probably was. They exchanged nods._

_Standing beside him in Abby's lab, Gibbs smacked him firmly on the back of the head. Tony winced and instinctively reached back to smooth his hair, catching Gibbs's sneaky little grin out of the corner of his eye as he did so._

_Outside an apartment building, Tony and Gibbs approached a landlord about renting an apartment for a stakeout. “Are you guys…together?” he asked. Tony told him, laughing, that it wasn’t what he thought. He was pretty sure the laughter sounded bitter only to his own ears._

_Gibbs was in his face again, chewing him out for something—it was hard to say what it was, exactly, as time seemed to be moving at a variable rate and Tony could catch only one word in ten. Whatever it was, he probably deserved it._

_There was the old man, the Medal of Honor recipient, what was his name… He was asking Tony how long he'd been in the Marine Corps. "Since the day I met Gibbs," Tony said, and it was God's honest truth._

_And then there was only the light, white and hot and searing everything away as Tony struggled to hold on to himself, to anything._ Gibbs. Gibbs. _That was all he had, all he knew, and even that was stripped away now by the light that was laying him open, burning him from the inside._

_The pain in his head was enough, finally, to bring him back, to force his conscious mind to the surface. He could hear voices, someone murmuring about eye movements and labored breathing._

_The touch, then, of something cool on his forehead. A whisper in a familiar, gravelly voice: "DiNozzo? Tony, can you hear me?"_

* * *

He was awake, gasping, looking wildly around him even as he tried to shield his eyes from the light. Desperate for something to hold on to, he reached out blindly, and his wrist was caught by a firm, calloused hand.

"Boss?" he croaked. His eyes still wouldn't focus.

The hand squeezed gently, then released. "Yeah, DiNozzo." Tony sensed, rather than saw, that Gibbs was standing up, moving away from him. "You're gonna be fine. I want your report on my desk as soon as you're cleared to write it."

"Sir, I'm not sure that's—"

"Wasn't asking, Doctor." And then, to Tony, "Get better. Get back to work. Your team needs you." Tony squinted and just managed to catch a glimpse of the boss's back as he walked out the door.

A tall man in a lab coat entered Tony’s field of vision. "Welcome back, Agent DiNozzo," he said, leaning over him. "Do you know where you are?"

Tony took in the white walls, white ceiling, cold sheets, and an IV in his arm. "Hospital," he murmured. And then, "Water?"

"Not just yet, but I’ll have a nurse bring you some ice chips. Do you know why you’re here?"

That was a more difficult question. The pain in his head made it difficult to concentrate as Tony grasped at threads of memory. "Not sure. The last thing I remember…Kate…" He saw her throwing herself in front of Gibbs, taking a shot that was meant for him, laughing with him and Tony afterward…then, moments later laid out on the concrete with a bullet wound in her forehead, her blood drying on their faces. "Kate." But he hadn’t been hurt, had he?

The doctor flipped back to the paramedics’ notes. The NCIS agents present with DiNozzo had been included for the record, and there was no mention of anyone by that name. "Can you tell me the date?"

"Summer, 2005?"

The doctor was frowning slightly. "You were in an explosion, Agent DiNozzo. You’ve suffered minor burns and shrapnel wounds, but more importantly, you’ve sustained a blow to the head that seems to have induced temporary retrograde amnesia. This is normal and not uncommon; it should pass within a few days."

Amnesia? What had he forgotten? Heart racing, Tony struggled to sit up, fighting the doctor as he tried to keep him in bed. The doctor called for a nurse. "Gibbs!" Tony shouted. "I have to get to Gibbs!"

There were two sets of hands urging him back down onto the bed now. "I’m sorry," the doctor was saying, "but you’ll need at least a couple of days’ observation before you’re ready even to think about going back to work. Try not to let what your boss said upset you. He must have been worried about you; I’m sure that he didn't mean it."

 _But he did._ Sleep was rapidly overpowering Tony and he didn't try very hard to fight it. As he slipped away again, his last thoughts were of the boss's words. _Get better. Your team needs you._ He wasn't entirely clear on what had happened to him, but he knew that Gibbs was right; he had to get back. There was something very important that he had to tell him. He just hoped that when the time came, he could remember what it was.


	11. Chapter 11

It was either several seconds or a million years later that Tony’s eyelids fluttered open again. He wasn’t sure; time didn’t seem to be working correctly, or at all, at the moment. All he knew was that his head was split open and throbbing. The rest of him didn’t feel so great, either. Turning his head seemed like a truly terrible idea, so Tony did his best to take stock of his situation while remaining as still as possible. 

The odd sensation in his hand turned out to be an IV. Lines ran from somewhere over his shoulder to his chest--probably a heart monitor, he thought. Hopefully there were no tubes in awkward places. He’d seen enough medical dramas to know that wasn’t fun.

Gradually, the room around him came into focus. The fluorescent lighting overhead was mercifully turned off. The decor seemed to be white on beige, which was not exactly inspiring, but at least he had a window. Sunlight poured through the half-opened blinds, providing excellent backlighting for a woman who leaned against the sill.

Wait, what? How long had she been there? And why hadn’t Tony noticed her right away? He squinted, trying to make out her facial features, and the woman stepped over to the side of the bed.

“Good morning, Tony. Still think this is ‘so _Usual Suspects_ ’?” 

_Kate_. He tried to keep the shock from registering on his face, but she could always see right through him.

“Yes, Tony, it’s me. And no, you’re not dead--I am, though; I know you remember that.” She was wearing the suit and vest she’d had on that day on the roof. Tony raised a trembling hand to his face, half expecting to feel her blood still there, drying stickily.

Kate’s eyes softened. “Oh, Tony.” She took his hand in both of her own, sitting down carefully beside him.

“How long--” He stopped to clear his throat. “How long has it been since you…”

Kate looked him straight in the eyes, wanting to be sure that he understood. “About five months. You have a new partner now.”

“Don’t.” It was still too fresh for him, as if it had happened just yesterday. “I can’t; I’m not ready. Maybe that’s why you’re here.” 

She nodded. “Could be. It’s certainly not like last time.”

“I’ve seen you before? Since it happened?”

Grimacing, she said, “Let’s not talk about that. So. You and Gibbs, huh? Never saw that one coming.”

“Yeah…” Tony grinned sheepishly. “There were reasons for that.”

“Gonna tell him now?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head, wincing as the movement brought on a fresh wave of pain. “No. Can’t do it. Call me a coward, but I don’t think I could stand to see the look on his face if it went the way I’m pretty sure it would.”

Kate looked disappointed, but didn’t push. They sat in silence for a moment while she absently stroked the back of his hand. Then she said, “There is something you do need to tell him, though, Tony. Something that happened just before you were brought here. Can you remember what it is?”

He snorted. “Kate? I’m lucky I know who I am right now. How am I supposed to… Can you give me a hint?”

“Sorry, I don’t know any more than you do. But it’s important.”

“Oh, that helps. No pressure.” He closed his eyes wearily. “Come on, Kate--”

“Kate?”

Opening his eyes, Tony’s breath caught in his chest as he saw Abby standing in the doorway. Kate was gone. “Abbs. Hey.” He smiled weakly.

Diving impulsively toward him, Abby caught herself at the last second and gave Tony a careful hug instead. She missed the panic in his eyes as she buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh, Tony! I’m so glad you’re awake! We’ve all been so worried about you.” She sat up, tears standing in her eyes. One spilled over and Tony reached up to brush it away.

“I’m okay, Abbs. Feel like I got hit by a truck, but I’ll live. What happened, anyway?”

“Well…” She visibly gathered herself, trying both not to cry and to hold back her usual high-energy delivery. “You were on a boat. It was supposed to be a routine mission, boring, just an agent extraction. Gibbs had you take lead. You found your guy and he took off, so you followed him and then--” She grabbed his hand. “There was an explosion. You managed to find shelter in time, but it was--I mean--”

Tony tugged her over for another hug. “It’s all right, Abby. I’m okay. Really.”

She sniffled. “I told the doctor I was your fiancee.”

“What?” His hand, which had been stroking her back, stilled. “Um. Are we…”

“No, no. But that was the only way I could get in to see you! You don’t mind, do you?”

He tugged a pigtail. “Are you kidding? You’re the only woman for me, Abbs.” It was kinda true, after all.

“Very well said, Anthony,” a familiar voice interjected from the doorway.

“Ducky!” Tony grinned. “Wait, are we engaged, too?”

The doctor snorted. “You should be so lucky. No, I am here to relieve dear Abigail, who is needed back at the laboratory.” Ducky wagged a finger at her. “You were supposed to be at home sleeping, young lady.”

She gave Tony one last, gentle squeeze, then jumped up from the bed. “I grabbed a nap in the chair here, Ducky, I promise. I’ve had too much Caff-Pow to really sleep anyway.” She gathered her things and bounded toward the door, planting a kiss on Ducky’s cheek as she passed. “Be good, Tony!” Abby called back to him. “I’ll let everyone know you’re awake again. Just...get better.”

“I promise to take good care of him,” Ducky assured her. “Now get back to Bethesda before Jethro has an aneurysm!”

Blowing a kiss at Tony, she walked quickly down the hall, leaving the two men alone.

Ducky closed the door after her and turned back to Tony, his expression serious. “I hate to spoil the mood, Anthony, but I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. Jethro only agreed to let me come here on the condition that I return with a report on your mental state and anything that you can recall about the events of your mission. The neurologist tells me that you are experiencing some degree of retrograde amnesia, but I’m hopeful that--”

“Sorry, Ducky,” Tony interrupted. “I really don’t know any more than what Abby told me before you came in. On a boat. Chasing a guy. Boom.” His eyebrows drew together slightly in puzzlement. “Something about _The Usual Suspects_.”

“That’s excellent, Tony!” Ducky settled into the chair by the bed, looking pleased. “Timothy mentioned that you’d made a comment about that film just before leaving the Naval Yard. You see, it’ll come back.”

Tony chuckled mirthlessly. “I wish I could take credit for remembering that, but actually Kate…” He trailed off, forcing down a sudden lump in his throat.

Beside him, Ducky radiated concern. “Oh, dear. Caitlin. Tony, I’m very sorry to have to ask you this, but what is the last thing that you remember about Agent Todd?”

He swallowed hard. “I know, Ducky. I know she’s gone. My timeline’s a little fuzzy right now, but I think that’s the last thing I _do_ remember. Like it just happened. And I--” He hesitated for a moment, but if he couldn’t tell Ducky, who could he tell? “I saw her. Right here. Just as plain and clear as you and Abby.”

Ducky reached out and clasped the hand that wasn’t pierced by an IV needle. “That doesn’t surprise me. We all saw Caitlin in the days after she was killed. Probably even Jethro, although I’m sure he’d never admit it.”

“So it’s not something I need to worry about? I mean, we even talked a little bit. She was trying to get me to remember something.”

“Tony, you are talking to a man who regularly converses with his patients in autopsy. I can assure you, speaking with Caitlin is no reason for you to be alarmed.” He patted Tony’s hand gently before releasing it. “This is terribly Freudian of me, but perhaps your subconscious has chosen her as a representative to guide your recovery of your memories. I knew a young police officer who sustained a terrible blow to the head when he was ambushed by a murder suspect he'd been tracking in Soho. He'd lost several years of his memory when he awoke in hospital, but his recovery was most fascinating. You see, he saw his mother--"

Tony cleared his throat. "I'm sure it's a great story, Ducky, but..."

He nodded obligingly. "But perhaps another time, yes. So. Caitlin. Did she, ah, give any clue as to what she wanted you to remember?”

“Not really. She said there was something I had to tell Gibbs, but I don’t…” Tony felt himself flush slightly and he flinched, as if he could physically escape the tide of emotion that washed over him anew. _Not that. She said it was something that just happened, and that’s been forever. And I can’t. I_ can’t.

Dr. Mallard seemed to interpret his reaction as one of frustration and was quick to reassure him. “That’s quite all right, Tony. As I said, it will all come back to you, in time.” He glanced surreptitiously at the monitors, and Tony guessed from the way his face relaxed that his heart rate was still within acceptable parameters. “Perhaps this will help.” Ducky reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a photograph. He glanced at it briefly himself and then held it up for Tony to see. “Do you recognize this man?”

He squinted at the picture and gestured impatiently for Ducky to hand it to him, which he did reluctantly. As Tony brought it closer, staring intently, that white light filled his vision again, accompanied by stabbing pain and flashes of memory. _A passport cover. An anxious face--the man in the picture, staring back at him. Running, feet pounding on a metal floor, confusion mingled with a surge of adrenaline._

When Tony came back to himself, he was breathing hard. “I can’t think. There’s a name; I know it, but I can’t…” 

Ducky was reaching to take the photograph away, but Tony clung to it. “It’s fine, Tony; it’s fine!” He put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You don’t need to remember it all now; just...take a deep breath. Try to remain calm.”

Tony shook his head, heedless of the way it made the room spin. “No. This is important, right? You wouldn’t have showed it to me if it wasn’t. Gibbs would have asked, but you wouldn’t… Life or death, right, Ducky?” When Ducky nodded helplessly, he gritted his teeth and said, “Who is he? Tell me!”

“That is Pin Pin Pula,” Ducky said, sounding as if he deeply regretted their entire conversation.

The light again. “No. No it isn’t.” Tony was shaking, holding on to the picture with strength born of panic, crumpling it in his hands.

Ducky was trying, without much success, to push him back into a supine position, but Tony's words made him pause in his efforts. “Are you sure about that, Anthony?”

“No! I don’t know! I mean, I--” The light was taking him again. He could see nothing but that brutal, bright white all around him. As if from far away, Tony heard the heart monitor sounding its shrill alarm, the drum of footsteps as an army of nurses rushed into the room. Someone was holding him down and he fought them desperately. "Where is Gibbs? I need to talk to him now!" He knew that he was shouting, but couldn't seem to stop himself. "Get him in here, Ducky! I need Gibbs! I need--"

Then came a sudden stab to his thigh, and Tony knew no more. He collapsed bonelessly and turned his face into his pillow, muttering, "Jethro..."

Ducky, still leaning close to him, was the only one who heard. With a pang of uneasiness that he could not name, he gently prised the remains of the photograph from Tony's slack fingers and left to make his report.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...guess what I'm doing for NaNo? There will not be a new chapter every day, but I hope to have the fic finished (or at least close to it) by the end of the month. Apologies for the incredibly long delay!


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